


Your Vibe Is Off Sir

by Cyber_God



Series: Overflowing [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humiliation, Other, Semi Public, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Teasing, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyber_God/pseuds/Cyber_God
Summary: Dirk needs to learn to stop dropping important things.
Series: Overflowing [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738885
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44
Collections: Homestuck Renaissance Kinkmeme





	Your Vibe Is Off Sir

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [AllDaveKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllDaveKat/pseuds/AllDaveKat) in the [HRKinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HRKinkmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> For some reason Dirk thought it would be fun to wear a wireless vibrator in public, but now he's lost the remote. Karkat finds it and is trying to figure out what it does. Sexy times ensue.

Because you’re a completely normal person, the first thing that pops into your mind when Jade goes all “hey, perfect weather on Earth C for once, why not rope everyone into a goddamn picnic, yes, Dirk, it’s going to be all the sessions -- 

Wireless. Vibrator.

Hell fucking yes.

Maybe it’s some leftover remnant of the times you let AR fuck you around in the stillness of your apartment, but now -- in front probably dozens of people -- you’ve dug yourself deep into the hole of exhibitionism. Just the possibility of getting caught makes your spine all thrilled and warm like you’ve been doused in warm liquid. 

Which leads to your current predicament: you’re braced on your bed, your knees spread and fingers coated in slick lube, working open your asshole for your spiffy new toy. Anal’s an old-time buddy of yours; it’s just been a while. You take your sweet fucking time going slow and easy prying your rim open, letting your fingers brush around the insides -- oh. 

Fuck. 

There’s the sensation. Your cock twitches a little, something you try to squash down with the force of a guillotine. You’re not about to come on your goddamn bedsheets right now and be all blissfully empty by the end of the picnic. Instead, you focus on pressing the tip of the plug in, and no organism in this universe can blame you for the moan that’s forced out of your throat as you stretch the vibrator in deeper. Distantly, you’re aware you sound like you’re in a shitty pornographic video, soft, breathy gasps exhaled out as the plug finally gets situated in place, hitting against that spot that makes you go cross-eyed. You consider just going to hell with it and jacking off right on your pillow, but --

Shit, the time. It blares at you in tiny red digits and you’re going to be late.

Fuck this.

Walking with a vibrator stuffed up your ass isn’t your normal forte to go, but by the time you’ve fastened boxers and jeans snugly around your waist, remote controller safely tucked away in your back pocket, and get going on the sidewalks, you can almost manage your stride. A few more practiced steps and even Roxy won’t tell you’re a touch away from coming. 

You are the master of stealth. It is you.

It even works for the first damn hour; you ignore the sensation of being cockblocked by your own damn self by conversing with the other humans and trolls. Jade’s right in one regard: the day’s pleasant enough, with wind and sun gentle across your skin, even if you’d rather be sequestered back in your workshop. There’s blankets and Crocker snacks and…

It’s not bad, really. You could get used to this public interaction thing. Even with the vibrator.

It’s after the younger Zahhak finishes chatting up with you that you palm your backside -- maybe you can get a little buzz going, just keep you on your toes --

Nothing.

Your remote’s gone.

Fuck, did you drop it -- holy shit, if you dropped it and some idiot decided it was a fucking toy or something -- already you’re scanning the grass, your shades thankfully hiding your panic, checking for a piece of black compact plastic, oh fuck did it land in the food, did Zahhak see it, did -- did -- you don’t even want to open up the mental list of people you definitely don’t want to come in front of. Starting with everyone. Getting caught masturbating is one thing; blowing your load in front of strangers is a whole other mindset you don’t even want to poke at.

Shit fuck on a stick.

“You alright there, Strider?”

You try not to grimace in front of Equius. He must’ve noticed how goddamn stock-still you were, like you just got head-dunked in a microwave of ice.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Perfectly fucking peachy, you don’t add. “Just thought I left something on.” Maybe even literally.

Equius doesn’t press further, though; he just shrugs awkwardly and shuffles off to join his moirail. What a damn champ. But the panic’s still knotted all tight in your guts, like some fist twisting up your intestines into a pretzel, and you swear your heart misses several beats as you continue wondering where the fuck the remote could’ve gone.  
Chill, you mutter to yourself. It’s going to come up eventually -- maybe you can just ignore it for now. Pretend it’s not a 101 thing gone AWOL. You swipe an orange soda from the cooler and retreat to the fringes of the group, letting yourself flop down against a tree. You’re going to chug down this soda like it’s the last drink on Earth C and you will love it --

Then this pressure just bottles up in you like some high-velocity volcano, and you haven’t even drank a drop of soda yet -- fuck, fuckfuckfuck, there’s a high vibration coursing on your prostate and you jolt violently where you sit. You force yourself to swallow, holding back a cough, as your vision goes blurry from the brief, white-hot pleasure. The vibrations still out a bit, letting you suck in a breath of relief --

\-- and then it’s back, but now at a billion times the intensity, and you can’t even control your hips trying to jut up for friction.

Crap doesn’t even begin to describe your mindset.

Shame flushes your cheeks in pink. Here you are, filled with a plug in front of all of the people you know, one of which has the happy fingers of the remote to your torment. The vibrations lower before switching to a wave-like sensation you try to match the pulse with your hips. By now your cock is already rock hard in your jeans from the stimulation. Shakily, you lean back and cross your legs to hide the tent. All good still. Detective Crocker couldn’t sleuth this from half a mile away. You’re more subtle than a cheetah chewing its own cub, that’s for sure.

As if your body’s trying to prove you wrong, a soft whine escapes your throat, and it takes every. Damn. ounce of strength to struggle to keep quiet. Your cock wants to go off like a rocket launcher, and you’re completely helpless to stop it. You try to look elsewhere -- in the sky, at the trees, anything to take your mind off the biggest fucking erection of your life --

Karkat. Fucking. Vantas. 

The shorter troll is fiddling with this lovely, familiar remote in his hand. He’s even got the gall to tilt his head curiously at it, flicking the switch up and down like it’s a gift he got for Troll Christmas. Someone calls his name, and he looks up, shouting something back at them -- and the two of you make eye contact -- 

It’s too much, it’s so goddamn much --

You come. You come hard enough that your vision full-out blots into darkness for a second, your body curling inward with tremors intense enough that your teeth chatter, and you’re practically ripping up the grass in how tightly you’re clenching it. The orgasm doesn’t cease, though; it just ripples through you like hot, escalating waves, milking out each ounce of pleasure until you’re sure your pants are more stained than a canvas. 

Karkat’s eyes go wide as plates as he looks down at the thing in his hand, just now understanding. You don’t even have the energy to be grateful when he finally connects the fucking dots and switches off the remote, looking as if he wants to throw it onto the grass like it’s a poisonous snake. You’re still reeling from the euphoria, this weird, foggy blankness clouding across any shreds of consciousness. 

It’s probably eternity before Karkat shuffles to where you’re slumped, remote held very carefully between his fingers. 

“Uh…”

If you could glare at him through the shades, you would.

“Here,” he stammers, and tosses the remote into your hand. “I’m just -- yeah. I’m going to.” He doesn’t bother finishing with his words, just scampers back faster than you could blink into Dave and John’s company again. You notice he very firmly does not look back at you. 

You look down at the remote in your hand. 

Best idea ever, Strider. 10/10 would try again, but maybe next time you could just do it in front of national television. Master of subtlety, you were.

Which reminds you: your jeans are getting rather sticky against the skin of your ass. You probably should clean it up.


End file.
